One Hundred Words On One Life
by Forever Day
Summary: A collection of short stories/drabble-esque bits and pieces. Humour, romance, hurt/comfort, Danish, Finnish, wrong drop down list. NS, just lashings of bromance.
1. Chapter 1: 1 to 19

**When did I last post a fanfic? _2010? _Anyway, I'm back in a new fandom with this set of 100 or so drabbles inspired by 100 Words Every High School Graduate Should Know which was in turn inspired by Watcher mine's fantastic Ten Thousand Times of Living Sherlock fanfic. Enjoy!**

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**1-19  
**

**Abjure:**

When Merlin's secret had finally been uncovered, the last thing anyone close to them had expected the honourable King Arthur to make him do was swear an oath in the most binding of terms to leave Camelot forever.

And when it was finally revealed to be an elaborate ploy to bring Morgana down once and for all, few could resist the temptation to turn to their neighbour and say 'I told you so.'

**Abrogate:**

The day Arthur formally did away with the law against magic was a day of celebration for all.

That was, of course, because he had managed to quietly slip it in after his wedding speech when everyone was too drunk to care.

Everyone except a young man in a necktie who had given a loud cheer and promptly fallen over his feet.

**Abstemious:**

As a general rule, Merlin didn't drink. For a start, his tolerance of alcohol was abysmal. A cup or two of ale and the room started to spin (quite literally - his hold on his magic slipped rather drastically, along with his never brilliant coordination.)

Unfortunately he had once made the mistake of telling the castle's greatest drinker this. And, when Sir Gwaine had witnessed something he considered suspicious, he had no qualms in taking Merlin to an out-of-the-way tavern until he knew all he wanted to (and some he didn't.)

But even the reveal of his secret to a not-so-secret man was overshadowed by the pounding of his head the next morning, assisted in its assault by an out-of-reach boot , low bed frame and a master who thought it hilarious to tell him that he was 'sure that the bed had it coming' when he said he'd hit it.1

**Acumen:**

As one of the Knights of the Round Table, Sir Gwaine generally prided himself on his ability to make good judgements and take quick decisions.

Still, he mused as he started cleaning the sewers (his most pleasurable task all day), maybe kissing the lady Guinevere in front of Arthur had not been worth the bet it rode on.

**Antebellum:**

The dragons had existed forever, long before the war on magic and other inconsequential events.

This Merlin understood, he understood perfectly.

He just sincerely wished he never reached the age where he stopped lying about how old he was and started bragging. 2

**Auspicious:**

Today was going to be a good day. Arthur could feel it in the tread of his re-heeled boots, the warmth of the sun glinting off freshly polished armour, and the breeze that lightly ruffled his new haircut.

He managed to get halfway to Gwen's house before meeting Merlin.

"Barber came this morning?" Merlin asked.

Arthur inclined his head, hiding a smug grin. "Yes."

"I could tell." With the look of a farmer appraising a cow, Merlin walked round Arthur examining him from all angles. "You know," he said sincerely, "I thought the last one was bad, but this really takes the biscuit. I'm surprised you haven't had him thrown in the dungeons for gross misconduct against people's sense of style."

Arthur's smile dropped off his face abruptly. "Oh, really?" he said icily.

Merlin nodded amicably. "In my humble opinion, you'd be better looking bald."

Arthur pulled himself up. "Thankfully, Mer_lin_, I value your opinion slightly less than I do the stable boy's. You know the chap, he's the one that can replace you at any time."

With a mischievous grin that spoke volumes (namely that Arthur was talking utter horsedung) Merlin was off, only stopping once to look over his shoulder and shout "Gwen'll love it!" before continuing on his way.

At his words the pout slipped off Arthur's face, replaced by a wide grin.

**Belie:**

Merlin as a person was clearly defined in almost everyone's mind as clumsy, loyal to a fault and a general cheery chappie.

But to the privileged few who'd seen him as Emyrs another description presented itself: the most dangerous man they'd ever met.

**Bellicose:**

Merlin would never be described as aggressive, nor would most say he had any inclination towards fighting.

Even so, people learned very fast not to insult Arthur within hearing distance of the unassuming servant.

**Bowdlerise:**

Over the course of his servitude to Arthur, if there was one thing (other than polishing armour) that he'd got very good at, it was giving a subtly altered version of events.

Nothing too major, just the hero of the story becoming the King rather than himself, whatever was attacking them dead by sword (or crossbow or whatever could be wielded without magic) and the strange, ill-fitting bits omitted. This he found out only after the ban on magic had been lifted, not only saved his neck, but also several months of sulking.

**Chicanery:**

**A Lesson in Chicanery with Merlin:**

"Yes, Sire, those new clothes suit you perfectly. Gwen will love them."

"Thank you Merlin. I will not be needing your assistance tomorrow, you may amuse yourself as you please."

_End_

**Chromosome:**

It was impossible to guess what the child would be like, although Merlin (already very much at home in the doting uncle role, even if his affections could only be directed, at this point, to a bump) devoted more hours a day than he would like to admit to the task. Appearance-wise it didn't really matter -whatever combination, it would be an extremely good looking child- but he couldn't help but think that if it inherited Gwen's temper with Arthur's leadership qualities it would be as near perfect as a child could be.

Humming happily he reached up to pick some willow. There weren't many trees near Camelot so he'd been forced to journey a couple of days outside the city to pick the desired amount. Still, it looked like an hour more of this and he'd be able to head home.  
xxx  
His predictions were correct and he was heading back before lunch, arriving three days later in Camelot to be greeted by a tight-lipped king who informed him that the child had been still born the night before.

It was that day that Merlin discovered that there were few things so terrible in the world as a grown man breaking down in front of you and sobbing over and over again, "Why? Why me? _Why weren't you here?"_

**Deleterious:**

The child's death caused a breach in Merlin's relationship with Arthur, a gaping chasm of guilt, anger, and _pain_ that Merlin couldn't cross however he tried.

Daily Arthur withdrew, while Merlin could do little but watch as their friendship slipped inexorably into the sort of servant-master relationship theirs had always been made from _not being._

It was with an almost physical ache in his chest that Merlin silently attended to him for months, until that one morning in spring that he had something thrown at him and was informed that they were going on a quest and why wasn't his armour polished already, Mer_lin_?

And after that, somewhere between him saving Arthur's life and Arthur making his a misery, it was all sorted out until they were back in the familiar comfort of their bickering and both came back to Camelot smiling like everything was suddenly, if not right, _so much better_ in the world.

**Churlish:**

Before Merlin, before Gwen and the knights, before the long years of adventures, growing up and finding himself, Arthur had been rather, well, churlish. This he had grudgingly conceded to once when he was a little bit drunk and very happy from just escaping certain death and had all of his closest friend's insisting that, yes, he really had been that bad.

And yet it still managed to sting just a little when he overheard a group of what he had considered trusted officials nattering about what an absolutely terrible child he'd been, then laughing uproariously (and slightly nastily) when they recalled the few occasions he'd been taken down a peg or two. (To add insult to injury, due to the fragile state of his government, there wasn't really any option but to pretend he hadn't heard.)

Still, he had been somewhat heartened by Merlin's quick reassurance that at least he'd managed to grow out of his worst habits, while those tossers were still as awful as ever. Of course, he then had to send him on some mind numbing task just to make it clear that he could not be flattered into giving his servant a day off, but it was the thought that counted.

**Circumlocution:**

"Well Sire, I did meet a woman outside the walls, that is true, but even an old man like me is allowed to court a woman, no? Her hood did look most suspicious but aren't the fashions ever changing? And although I did give her poison, but she needed to kill her chickens and was, if you'll pardon the pun, too chicken to do it herself so she was going to do it the easy way and just slip it in their food. The information I was overhead giving her was just me trying to prove my undying love for her by showing how completely I trust her. And besides Sire, I'm your uncle. I'd never betray you."

Arthur bowed him head. "Of course, uncle. I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Apology accepted. Now _Gaius,_ he has control of all the poisons in the kingdom. Think about that."

With a nod of his head, Agravaine left, leaving the knights, his lady, and a manservant all staring at the king in disbelief.

"With all due respect, Sire," Leon said after a pause. "Are you _blind_?"

"Excuse me?" Arthur's head, which had been resting in his hands, came up sharply to meet Leon's gaze.

Leon waved his hands about helplessly. "_Chickens_. You don't poison something you're going to eat."

"Forget that," Gwaine interjected. "What woman would be insane enough to fall in love with _Agravaine_?"

"Not to mention small, rather important fact that seems to have escaped your notice, Sire, that we heard him promising to _kill_ you," Gwen said.

"And what about the shrine he has to Morgana in his room?" Merlin demanded. "Because that's exactly what your most loyal advisor should have, a place dedicated to your sworn enemy."

Arthur waved away their objections with a hand. "Don't be ridiculous. Perhaps the chickens couldn't be eaten anyway, or his lady friend doesn't eat meat."

"His 'lady friend' is Morgana, if you've forgotten," Elyan said incredulously.

"We have no proof of that," Arthur reminded them.

"It looked like her, sounded like her and _smelt_ like her. How much more proof do you need?"

"That came from a highly unreliable source."

"I was not that drunk!" Gwaine said indignantly.

"You were drunk enough to trip over your feet and into the lady!"

No one could deny the truth of that, and settled for shuffling about a bit.

"Anyway," Arthur said in a more controlled voice. "As I was saying, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for each of your worries. Gwen, you know as well as I do that Agravaine was simply trying to discover traitors. Merlin, you know too that we must meditate on the minds of our enemies to know what will be their next move. I rather think your irritation on the matter is more to do with the fact that you have to dust it than out of concern for me."

"It's creepy!" Merlin insisted.

Arthur sighed. "I think you should all get back to work. For the last time, Agravaine is not a traitor, although if I could get one of you to investigate Gaius for me. . ?"

At this, the degree of disbelief cranked up a notch.

"You cannot be serious," Gwen said. "You've already investigated him and found him completely faithful!"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't like it either, but who has access to the potions?"

For several in the room the stone wall had started looking like a very nice place to hit their heads against. It certainly was more likely to listen.

"Maybe he's enchanted?" Gwen whispered out of the corner of her mouth to Merlin.

"Or just bull headed," he whispered back.

Arthur, obviously tired of the conversation, raised an arm to shoo them out. "If you've quite finished finding traitors in trustworthy friends I will remind you that you've got a job to do. Back to work, the lot of you," he said.

Muttering darkly amongst themselves, the group complied.

**Deciduous:**

Merlin was used to Kilgharrah taking his time to come when he called. If the need to talk wasn't urgent, he even occasionally went so far as to bring a book to entertain himself with while he waited.

Still, when he had been waiting in a cold wet field for over two _hours_ and there was still no sign of him_,_ he couldn't help feeling a little impatient and, well, worried.

And he couldn't quite summon anger either, when a half-bald dragon appeared five minutes later looking very sorry for himself.

Dragons, it was snootily explained to him, shed their scales annually much like trees their leaves and it was a closely guarded secret of the dragonlords by the dragon's request and if he didn't stop laughing he would very soon be a roasted warlock, consequences forgotten.

**Diffident:**

One wouldn't describe King Arthur as lacking in self-confidence. In modesty and knowledge of normal life, yes, but if there was one thing he could do well it was haughty arrogance.

So it made it all the more amusing when Merlin chanced upon him pacing up and down in front of Gwen's door, giving himself a peptalk and muttering things like 'be a man!' and 'just get it over with!'. And when he tapped him on the shoulder and asked in his most polite tones whether he might perhaps wish to leave it for another day, Merlin found himself wishing for a device that wouldn't be invented until the mid-19th century3.

**Enervate:**

A spell that slowly drained your life force may not have been the most original of curses, but it was certainly effective, as Merlin discovered as he dragged himself ever so slowly to the healing waters that lay mere footsteps away.

Also, it is extremely onerous when your master crouches next to you with a slightly quizzical look on his face, then with one hoick of his arm brings you the full distance and you have to endure the relentless teasing for weeks afterwards until he does something embarrassing enough to use as blackmail.

And, if you're a hopeless blackmailer, there's really no hope for you.

**Enfranchise:**

Arthur had a problem. Namely, a certain manservant who insisted on saving his life almost daily and then refusing any honours point blank. It was getting _embarrassing_. They'd be in some improbable situation, moments from death, and then Merlin's eyes would flash and it would all suddenly work itself out and the infuriating boy would ask for or accept nothing, just giving a small, smug smile which said more clearly than any words that he'd done it again and Arthur was once more forever in his debt. _People were beginning to talk_.

Arthur's head hit his desk with a thud, then slowly rose as an idea came to him. It could work – it would have to, and what servant wouldn't jump at the chance to be free to have his own lands and own servants?

"Mer- GEORGE!" he yelled.

xxx

Merlin, apparently. In his own words, they were stuck with each other.

Arthur's head hit the table one more, but this time he was smiling.

**Epiphany:**

Arthur looked round at his sheepish knights, his lady, and court physician and then at his unassuming manservant who was looking doubly sheepish and mildly terrified.

"You knew?" he said. "_All_ of you knew and didn't think to tell me?"

The group shifted about restlessly, giving little nervous half nods as if they were less likely to be noticed, their eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

Arthur slammed his fist on the table. "_Why?_ Could you not trust me?"

He dropped into a chair, fuming. "All of you knew that it was Merlin who accidently dyed all my clothes pink rather than an age old curse and _you didn't tell me?_"

* * *

_1Unknown, but someone else did come up with this._

_2Quote, Will Rogers._

_3A Camera_

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**Thanks for reading and I apologise for any glaring grammar/spelling mistakes. I'm in desperate need of a beta wise in the ways of grammar so if any of you have any spare time. . ? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it despite.**

**Ciao**


	2. Chapter 2: 20 to 37

**20-37**

**Euro:**

Being a prince, Arthur had very little idea about the real value of money. The only amounts he ever really dealt in were the vast ones needed to run a kingdom, all the humdrum things such as purchasing food or clothes being dealt with by one servant or another.

So it fell to Merlin to tell the king that the price he'd paid to the traveller for a 'songbird' for Gwen almost constituted daylight robbery and he could probably have got him to catch one in the forest free.

And then hold him back as he went to hunt down the 'very helpful' traveller who had made, as he put it, a slight on his honour.

**Evanescent:**

It had been over so fast, she couldn't be sure she'd seen it.

One moment everything had been chaos and terror, her hair yanked back from her neck, the executioner's blade swinging even as Arthur's forces stormed the castle in a valiant, if futile, attempt to save her. She'd been searching the crowd for a familiar face –Arthur, one of the knights, anyone really to share her final moments with- when her eyes had locked on Merlin. He'd had the anguished expression of someone having to make a difficult decision in the midst of a battle, when Arthur had given a desperate cry of "Gwen!" and with a suddenly resolute expression his eyes had glowed gold and the axe managed to do a 360 degree turn in mid-air and embed itself in her almost-executioner's chest.

It had all got a bit confusing after that, what with all the blood from the man spraying everywhere and Arthur taking her in his arms and actually _sobbing_ with relief, and her being flung over his shoulder and bodily escorted to a safe place, but Guinevere was pretty sure she'd seen it.

Magic from Merlin.

_Magic_ from _Merlin._

Well, it certainly explained a lot.

**Expurgate:**

Gaius was busy rehearsing what to tell Uther. Or, rather, what _not_ to tell Uther.

There was the rather unorthodox ending to the battle (there just _happened_ to be a friendly dragon flying about killing the enemy) his son's on going love affair with a serving girl (very nice girl Gwen, but _still_) and a hundred other little 'coincidences' that he would be hard pressed to explain away.

Honestly Merlin, he would have said had the boy been with him, I'm an old man, you can't be expecting me to come up with a cover story _every_ time you decided to do anything dangerous like breathe.

But the boy's lecture would have to wait for a more opportune time (say, when he was actually conscious) and Gaius was all alone as he crossed the floor.

(There were actually several people with him, the guards and that horrible uncle of Arthur's and some other people who weren't particularly important, but _figuratively_ he was all alone.)

He bowed and swallowed.

"Well, Gaius," Uther said, "Tell me what happened."

Gaius thought about it for a bit longer. He did some more swallowing, then, very carefully and deliberately said. "We won."

"Pardon me?"

"I said, Sire, we won the battle."

"Oh." Uther looked a bit uncertain, as if he felt he'd been short changed but wasn't quite sure _how_. "Well… good. That's extremely good. Any details?"

"None that are necessary, Sire."

He looked at Gaius for a little longer. Gaius stared serenely back.

"Well… All right then. You're dismissed."

Gaius bowed and walked out, busily plotting Merlin's painful and imminent demise.

**Facetious:**

Merlin, Arthur thought, had serious issues with understanding the gravity of anything.

A huge fire-breathing dragon in the sky? Oh, it's sure to be gone by morning.

A man bleeding to death in front of them? He'll be fine after a good night's sleep.

A ginormous boil on Arthur's royal derriere? Well, better you than me, Sire.

As Arthur sat on his throne, delicately balanced on one bum cheek, he called down a little triumphantly to the boy trapped in the stocks. "Better you than me, Merlin. Better you than me."

**Fatuous:**

'Silly and pointless' his neckerchief had been described. 'Do you have to wear that old thing?' Gaius had asked him on more than one occasion. 'At least find something a bit less tatty," Arthur had said.

Never, he thought rather primly as he wrung it out over Arthur's motionless lips, would _anyone_ be able to put down his choice of neckwear again.

**Feckless:**

Arthur looked down at the man's lifeless form. He'd been weak, irresponsible, a fool and a traitor. His actions had almost lost Camelot, his love for the lady Morgana creepy at best, and he'd played them all for a fool.

But he had still been his uncle, one of the few people he'd thought he could trust and a man whose advice he thought had been worth its weight in gold. Someone he looked up to, a father figure. Someone he had thought would go to the ends of the earth for him.

Filled with the anguish of betrayal, the young king walked away from the lifeless form.

**Feckless:**

Morgana stroked his lifeless cheek, reflecting on a life badly spent. Agravaine had been weak, lacking initiative and too in love with her to be anyone, but he had been useful enough in his own way. Now he was gone she'd need a replacement.

She thought about it as she lit the fire beneath him. Who to choose? Who was worthy of her attentions?

As the fire caught his hair, an idea came to her and she smiled, a nasty smile, a merciless smile. A shark's smile.

_Merlin_. He'd shown some definite initiative in exposing Agravaine, managed to somehow come out of every battle unscathed and had Arthur's implicit trust.

And, she reflected, he was _cute_.

Standing up, she brushed down her dress, plotting all the while. There was, of course, the slight hitch of his utter loyalty to Camelot to get over, but other than that, he was _perfect_.

**Fiduciary:**

Although Arthur would generally deny it with his life, there was a certain amount of trust involved in his relationship with Merlin. He trusted that Merlin would not poison his food or knife him when he was defenceless, and Merlin trusted that he'd be fed and protected in return.

But still, he thought, perched on a stool in his bedroom while Merlin circled round with a pair of scissors, do I really trust him enough to let him touch my _hair_?

xxx

For the next month the King of Camelot could be seen sporting a variety of large hats and telling anyone who'd listen that he would never, under any circumstances, trust his good-for-nothing manservant again (while said manservant struggled manfully through the worst jobs his master could think of, the memory of his failed attempt at hair cutting hugged to his chest like armour).

**Filibuster:**

"Where's Merlin, Sire? _Merlin_? Black-haired, blue-eyed, neck-tied Merlin? Not the other one? What other one, Sire? Oh I really don't know."

_I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him._

"Well it's funny you should ask Sire because when I saw him this morning – and what a wonderful morning it was, with the birdsong and- what was that? It was storming? Well, we do have some very determined birds here in Camelot, but perhaps I meant _yesterday_ morning when I was down in the lower town… Yes, I should get back to Merlin."

_I'm going to kill him, I'm going to kill him._

"Now I saw him this morning wearing his red shirt and blue necktie- oh you don't care what he was wearing? Why, you should have said! When I saw him this morning – pardon me Sire but if you're going to keep interrupting to tell me I've already said that I'm not going to get anywhere. Now when I saw him this morning-"

The doors to the Great Hall shot open with a crash and a very out-of-breath Merlin burst in, gasping his apologises.

Gaius smiled and pushed him towards his King with a little more force than was entirely necessary. "Oh, there he is Sire," he said brightly. "Too dah loo then."

**Gamete:**

Gwen looked at the tiny being in her arms, which was waving both him arms in that adorably uncoordinated way of babies. So beautiful, so fragile, so _alive_.

A tear rolled off her cheek and dropped onto the baby's cheek. Startled at the sudden wetness, he began to cry.

Gwen handed him back to his mother and left before anyone noticed her glistening eyes.

**Gauche:**

"So, _Mer_lin, I'm interested," Arthur said through a mouthful of bread and cheese. "What were you like as a young man in your village? Popular with the ladies? Lots of friends?"

Merlin thought back to his teen years, standing awkwardly at the side on festival day in the neighbouring town, the rumours about 'Hunith's boy' having even reached here. Spilling his drink on the only lady who felt sorry enough for him to come and talk, and how utterly lost he had been without Will.

"Of course, Sire," he said jovially, then turned back to the buffet and muttered, "Of _course_ I was none of those things."

**Gerrymander:**

"I'm not trying to influence you," Merlin insisted, dressed in the red of Gwaine's crest, carrying Gwaine's sword which he polished continually, and mentioning every so often how 'absolutely brilliant Gwaine is, Sire'. "You can pick whomever you want to take your place in the tournament."

**Hegemony:**

Albion was a country split into many segments, each part continually warring with its others.

To many, Arthur's plan to unite them seemed ludicrous, the ravings of a young and unduly ambitious new king. But, to any who knew him personally there was little doubt in their mind that he would achieve all his aims and more, and make Albion a strong and prosperous country.

Or, so they all said when the crown was placed on his head and people from every one of those parts shouted, "Long live the King!"

**Haemoglobin:**

"Honestly, Merlin, I don't know why you're being so ridiculous about this. You've seen it countless times coming from others, without it you'd die, and, in all seriousness, it's only a scratch."

Merlin, having fainted several seconds ago at the sight of his own blood, didn't respond.

**Homogeneous:**

Deciding what to get Arthur for his birthday was always difficult.

It was the age old conundrum of what do you get a man who has everything? Weapons? Fine clothes? Both his armouries and wardrobes were full to bursting.

Merlin, on the other hand, was easy. His armoury lent more towards non-existent than full, and his clothes were all of a similar style.

So, as ever, the night before Merlin's birthday Gaius found himself wrapping up a necktie, and smiling fondly to himself.

**Hubris:**

"I can do it," Arthur had said confidently. "It won't be a problem for a knight of Camelot."

As Merlin reflected on Arthur's excessive pride, he also did a quick cost/benefit analysis of letting him be eaten.

"Merrrrliiiiiiin! Help!"

With a long suffering sigh, Merlin waited for Arthur's eyes to roll to the back of his head before letting his own eyes glow gold.

**Hypotenuse:**

For the longest time, it had always been Merlin and Arthur. Two constants that were the sword to the stone, the crown to the king. Just the two of them, bickering good naturedly, saving Camelot on a ridiculously regular basis, and generally living the lives of the two most important people that were to exist in that century.

So it was all the more surprising when the addition of Guinevere simply complemented what was already there, slotting into their daily routine as easily as she had to Morgana's initially.

Well, mostly. Sometimes you just wanted to yell and throw things at your servant without an audience.

* * *

**End of numero 2, I hope you enjoyed.**

**Entirely unrelated, has anyone got any good puppy names for a black female labradoodle?**


	3. Chapter 3: 38-56

**38-56  
**

**Incognito:**

Once it came out (in true Camelot fashion, in the midst of war, when very little could be said except a hasty 'I'm sorry, Arthur!') it was always assumed that Merlin had been the false identity, that under the clumsy, unassuming servant the powerful, highly controlled Emyrs lay barely concealed.

Merlin had always sort of thought this too. Sometimes the only thing keeping him going through a particularly bad visiting dignitary or Arthur's general snobbery was the thought that he could take them apart with a single word or less. In his case, looks could quite literally kill.

But when he one day found himself painstakingly tending to the wounds of the knights in the early hours of the morning, ignoring the bruise he'd just acquired tripping over one of said knight's armour, he wondered if the lines between them weren't a little more blurred than he'd originally considered.

**Incontrovertible:**

Before that moment, Arthur had never been sure. He'd wanted –_desperately_ wanted- to believe that it wasn't him. He'd seen what he wanted to, ignored the inconsistencies and other people's warnings.

But the day he saw his uncle striding at Morgana's side at the head of the army that was busy taking over Camelot, was the day he knew betrayal.

**Incontrovertible:**

Arthur was very good at ignoring things. Merlin had always known this, had exploited it time and time again in regards to his magic. He saw what he wanted to see. A loyal uncle in Agravaine, an idiot of a manservant.

But, when one was trying to tell him something, it was extremely irritating.

"I have magic, really I do!"

Arthur sighed. "_Mer_lin, if this is some extremely convoluted plan to get a day off, it's not working. Don't you have some chores to do? Polish my armour or something?"

"You saw me slay the serpent? I couldn't have faked that!"

"A trick of the light, as I keep telling you."

The windows simultaneously exploded outwards.

Arthur passed a calloused hand over his face. "Remind the housekeeper never to buy from those barbarians again. Their glass is terribly unreliable."

Rain spattered the parchment in front of him. "Get someone in to replace the windows, sooner rather than later, Merlin."

Ghostly lights floated around the room. "What is _wrong _with the new candles? Honestly, Merlin, the light's dreadfully erratic."

There was silence for a moment as Merlin pulled at his head. Then his eyes flicked gold and, had Arthur looked up, he would've seen the stand dressed in the curtain dancing a waltz with the suit of armour, the pillows fighting amongst themselves and liberally spewing feathers, and his manservant floating upside down on fire.

"Get me a drink, won't you Merlin? I've got a bit of a headache."

The armour dropped into pieces on the floor with a clang, the feathers spiralled slowly to the ground and Merlin slammed his palms on the table in front of Arthur, looking a little singed but otherwise unharmed.

"I. Have. Magic." His eyes glowed gold, briefly, and Arthur's mouth dropped slightly open.

"Oh. You really do," he said, and passed out.

**Inculcate:**

Arthur had tried to get Merlin to do his duties properly. Day after day, month after month, year after year he'd tried to instil a desire in Merlin to do his job well (and if that desire was more along the lines of not wanting to spend his life in the stocks, so be it). It had never worked. If anything, he got ruder and more opinionated as time went by.

So when Arthur awoke one morning to a warm breakfast, polished armour and clean clothes, he knew there was something seriously wrong.

**Infrastructure:**

The kingdom was in order. The roads were better than they'd ever been, the harvest a resounding success, and a general air of joviality pervaded the castle.

So _why,_ thought Arthur to himself, was he feeling so ill at ease at the sight of a meek and obedient Merlin pulling out a chair for him _with no complaining at all_?

**Interpolate:**

Merlin stood outside Arthur's door, debating whether or not to go in.

Yes, he had indirectly saved Merlin's life by alerting Gaius to the fact he'd been mind wiped ('honestly Gaius, can't you give him an obnoxious draught or something? I can't cope with such an obedient servant, there must be something wrong with him') but this was _Arthur_. He was already having problems getting him head through doors without needless thanking. And then he might start asking questions, like, 'Why were you experimenting with magic, Merlin?'

The door swung open, effectively eliminating his choice.

"Has Gaius fixed you?" Arthur said, sounding almost concerned. Then, "Can you get back to doing you work badly now?" which effectively ruined it.

Merlin smiled. "I'm fine now, thank you Sire. Unfortunately Gaius is still searching for a cure for prattishness."

If his head hadn't been ringing quite so loudly, Merlin might have said the clout he received had been almost affectionate.

**Irony:**

Earlier on that day Arthur had been passionately advising on the evils of magic and the consequences of performing it (death, no exceptions).

But as he sat next to the campfire that night, damp, chilly, and only alive because of a fast-thinking servant and said, almost too quietly to be heard, "Thank you, Merlin. For everything." Merlin was reassured.

Almost.

**Jejune:**

He hadn't meant to look, not really.

Well, okay, he had in fact meant to look, spent the week since Arthur had begun writing a diary waiting for the chance and was not above using a bit of magic to get a peek.

But it _had_ been open. (Arthur had been about to start writing when a flying lampstand had come out of nowhere and knocked him out. It had been most peculiar)

But now, looking through it, Merlin wasn't sure why he'd bothered.

This was the driest, most uninteresting book he had ever read, and he read archaic magic books in his spare time. He glanced through to the end and left it with a sigh. What a waste of effort.

xxx

Arthur settled himself at his desk, wincing as his head throbbed. He was still recovering from that mysterious head wound that had appeared yesterday. His personal suspicions lay with an innocent looking servant, but said servant had been keeping an extremely low profile.

Fumbling around his desk, he drew out the sheet of parchment he used to record his thoughts and, dipping his pen in the ink, wrote:

_HOW OBLIVIOUS DO YOU THINK I AM, YOU GULLIBLE IDIOT?_

_ALSO, I KNOW ABOUT THE. MAGIC._

He looked at it for a moment, idly scratching his face with his quill, then added:

_SURPRISE_

**Kinetic:**

Uther was not a scientist. A leader, warrior and king he may be, but he had neither the patience nor the inclination to mess around with the sciences.

But he did not really need to be one to know that crossbow bolts did not usually make a detour to avoid his son's heart before embedding themselves in the tree behind him.

Uther reached for his sword –a reflex that came far too late to be of any use, but a comfort all he same- and stared at the fleeing back of the bandit. How did that just happen? He looked suspiciously at his horse that had stopped its grazing and perked its ears at the zing of a bolt. Could animals have magic. . ?

He dallied for a moment then made a decision. He could take no chances.

"Gaius," he said to the man next to him, who was standing innocently next to his nephew. "As soon as we get back, arrange for my horse to be slaughtered. I believe it may have committed an act of sorcery."

Uther had turned back to glare suspiciously at his horse, so he missed the looks of utter disbelief that his court physician exchanged with his ward. His son, however, didn't and just gave the sort of embarrassed shrug common to children around the world and through the ages. Because, really, what do you say when your father's executing horses on charges of sorcery?

**Kowtow:**

Merlin bowed low upon entering the room, keeping his head down as he went over to Arthur. "What would my king desire of me today?" he asked. "May I assist you with your training or your horses? Perhaps you need a refreshing drink, Sire?"

Arthur didn't even glance up from his papers. "Whatever it is, I'm not saying yes. Although, now you mention it, I _would_ like a drink. Go fetch me one."

Grumbling into his necktie, Melin turned round and headed for the kitchens.

**Laissez Faire:**

Merlin was a born meddler.

Age six he'd dropped a pan onto the head of a 'travelling salesman' who'd been quietly pilfering his villager's food stores. Age ten he'd moved a cart into Grant's back pushing him into Violet. By fourteen people had simply got used to the funny little coincidences that seemed to follow in Merlin's wake.

Most times, his meddling worked out. The man was caught, the two were married. But when they didn't. . .

Merlin sat next to Arthur. "I didn't mean to," he said, voice unsteady. "I was trying to fix it, to help you."

In the dark he felt rather than saw Arthur turning away from him. "I know, Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "I know. But it doesn't change the facts."

Feeling guilty and helpless, Merlin lent back and watched the swimming stars.

**Lexicon:**

Merlin examined the spell.

Merlin mouthed out the spell.

Merlin sounded out the spell, stumbling a little over a patch of tricky pronunciation.

Merlin spoke the spell, feeling reasonably confident.

_Nothing._

Merlin frowned.

Merlin tried again, with a little more force.

_Nothing._

Merlin turned the book upside down to see if it made any more sense that way.

It didn't.

Merlin said the spell softly.

_Nothing._

Merlin shouted the spell.

_Nothing._

Merlin scratched his head.

Merlin said the spell like a nobleman, all hard a's and an offish tone.

_Nothing._

Merlin scowled at the inanimate stone.

Merlin said the spell like a peasant, dropping his t's like no one's business and spitting a little as he tried to emulate having no front teeth.

_Nothing._

Merlin hit his head against the book. Repeatedly.

Merlin said the word in his most commanding voice, the one dragons hurried to obey.

_Nothing._

Merlin flung the book onto his bed and went to find Gaius in exasperation.

**Loquacious:**

If Arthur was forced to pick Merlin's worst attribute, worse than his clumsiness, worse than the general disrespect and worse than his apparent inability to do _anything_ well, it would have to be his verbal diarrhoea.

It would begin early in the morning -far too early in Arthur's opinion, especially if there'd been a banquet the night before- with Merlin up and chirping whatever nonsense went through his head. 'Oh look at what a nice day it is, Sire, just perfect for being stuck inside and forced to listen to a royal prat' or 'If you don't step up the training or reduce your portions soon, I'm going to be _rolling_ you out of bed, Sire'.

Out hunting, where Arthur had no goblet or other throw-able item within easy reach it was even worse, especially if he'd been specifically ordered to remain silent. They'd be almost upon the deer and then, 'Oh look, Sire, a leaf.'

**Lugubrious:**

Merlin hurried off to the clearing, his clothes swishing rhythmically as he ran. He needed to speak to Kilgharrah desperately- there'd been an outbreak of a mysterious sweating sickness and there was no known cure. More worrying yet, even Morgana's customary smirk was gone, replaced by a genuinely worried look and a shawl that remained securely wrapped over her mouth in front of everyone except Uther. He called out as he ran, telling him to be at the clearing as soon as possible.

It took a while –far too long, people were _dying_- but eventually there was a rush of wind and Kilgharrah dropped in front of him.

Or, rather, _drooped_ in front of him.

"Are you all right?" Merlin asked, his original plea forgotten in his surprise. He'd seen Kilgharrah look many things, smug and knowing mainly, but never _despondent_. His wings hung low on the ground as if he lacked the strength to keep them up and his scales had lost their shine. It was enough to make Merlin genuinely worried.

Kilgharrah gazed at him with eyes that had lost their spark. "I'm not as well as I have been," he rumbled, not even adding the ever-patronising 'young warlock' in his depression.

"What's the matter? Is there anything I can do to help?" Merlin asked anxiously.

"Oh no," Kilgharrah said, "Leave me to suffer. Now why did you call me?"

Merlin frowned, but said, "There's a sweating sickness, Gaius says there's no hope. . ." He trailed off. "Do you know of a cure?"

"There is one. . ." Kilgharrah stopped to give a weak cough, his sides twitching. "It grows many days ride away, beyond the mountains."

"And if you carry me?"

If it was possible, Kilgharrah drooped further. "The journey will be cut down by a day, maybe two. I can do it. . . at least I hope I can. . ."

Merlin bit his lip. "People are dying."

"Perhaps I shall join them after the journey you will make me undertake."

Merlin looked at the dragon, took in his appearance and made a decision. "I won't force you to do it against your will. Give me the place and I will go on horseback."

Kilgharrah coughed again, weakly. "Thank you, Merlin." A breath of magic and the directions were permanently embedded into Merlin's mind.

"Thank you too. . . " he trailed off. "I. . . hope you feel better soon?"

Kilgharrah dipped his head, and waited until Merlin had left the clearing at a run until he took flight, leaping into the air with a roar that sounded a little too evil genius for anyone's liking.

If Merlin did not have the guts to kill Morgana, he would let a disease do it for him.

**Metamorphosis:**

It was a funny feeling, the changing process from young man to old. Not painful, exactly, but a little unpleasant, like waking up in the middle of the night and finding that you've been sleeping on your arm for the past few hours and then waiting while the blood rushes back to your fingers, burning all the way.

But, he thought, as he yelled 'faster!' at Arthur, it was _so_ worth it.

**Mitosis:**

The fact that magic was evil was not the only myth Merlin had to dispel from Arthur's mind when it was revealed. Sorcerers could also, apparently, see in the dark, read minds from vast distances, cause crops to fail and, Merlin's personal favourite, cause grass to grow from the heads of the people they loved.

Even now, months after the event, Arthur still occasionally came out with a question, so Merlin was not unduly surprised when he was interrupted in the middle of tending to the horses by Arthur asking, "Would you mind telling me something about magic?"

Merlin stopped his brushing and stood back, feeling important. "Of course not."

"Do all those with magic sing with a voice made out of the screams of children and dying unicorns or is that exclusive to you?"

His mood switching from pleased to insulted in a moment, Merlin immediately responded with, "Unicorns don't make a sound when they die, you of all people should know that, _Sire_." He turned back to the horse, ignoring Arthur, and pointedly beginning his singing again.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Well perhaps, _Merlin_, you should think about trying to sound a little more like one then."

Aim achieved (Merlin was spluttering too much to think of returning to his tuneless singing again) he walked off, smirking a little.

"At least it's better than yours after a few drinks," was Merlin's delayed (and rather pathetic) response, yelled at Arthur's retreating back. Then, as a revenge as feeble as his parting shot, he dropped Arthur's pants, causing the King to clutch at his trousers and turn round swearing at his manservant.

**Moiety:**

Merlin, having been told it almost daily since arriving in Camelot, was quite comfortable with the idea that he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin, two parts that together would make a far greater whole.

Arthur, who had not, was not.

"How could he compare _me_ to _you_?" he asked Merlin, both of them on their way back to Camelot after Arthur's first meeting with Kilgharrah. "I am a noble, I fight extremely well and ride ever better. You on the other hand-"

Merlin, having recently fallen off his horse, maintained a dignified silence.

Arthur continued, "As for this 'closest confident' business, I'll admit to confiding in you occasionally when there are no other options available to me, but I hardly tell you _everything_ and it's not like your advice is any good anyway."

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

"As for my 'most loyal servant' has he not heard the stories you tell the knights? My every secret revealed to _Gwaine_ of all people when you get half a mug of mead in you! In fact, as far as I'm concerned, the only thing he got even halfway right was our friendship which-" Arthur stopped midsentence and Merlin gave him an inquiring look.

"Which… which was greatly exaggerated in its closeness!" Arthur finished, sounding a little too vehement.

Merlin, not wanting to push his royal pratness too far in one day (Kilgharrah had been in peak performance) just smiled, a pleasantly warm feeling suffusing him.

Still, it must have been a little wide, because he received a rather painful clout to the arm moments afterwards.

**Nanotechnology:**

Every person counts. Arthur had always upheld that view, that from the least to the greatest, every peasant, noble, every _creature_ was important and the fate of a kingdom could rest on the most unlikely of shoulders.

And as he beheld the pale youth, his arm raised to strike Arthur dead, that lesson was driven home once more.

And then, as another pale young man stood, a single hand held in front of him to protect his king from the fiery blast, he felt it driven that much further in, like a physical blow to the chest.

Well, that was his excuse for passing out and he was sticking to it.

**Nihilism:**

"_You promised!_" The accusing words, audible even above the wind, ricocheted around the battle field, bouncing off stained armour and worming their way inside the helmets of every man.

"_You promised he'd be alive when I got here!_" A shaking breath. "I'll- I'll kill you!"

Whether in amazement that this statement was addressed to a sixty-foot dragon by a pasty youth or by a force not quite understood, all over the field the battle stopped, men in mid-thrust and parry lowering their swords to gawp open-mouthed at the exchange.

"I could not have known-"

"I'll kill you!" A wide-eyed, panicked gaze surveyed the scene, eyes jumping wildly. "I'll kill all of you!"

With the same strange, crystal clear quality every man heard the gasp from the floor. "No."

"Arthur!" The splash of running feet through puddles, the squelching slide on a rain sodden field before silence as the young man came to rest beside his king.

"Mordred's dead." Laboured breathing, to every experienced ear the sound of a dying man. "S'enough."

"No it's _not_."

"No-more. S'order-Merlin. Mean-It."

"_No_. . . Tell me there's something I can do."

A chuckle, a weak and pathetic sound that stuttered to a stop. "Heal-me?"

"Impossible." The dragon's voice was rich, deep, and booking no room for argument. "He was dealt a mortal blow. No magic is strong enough-"

No more words were spoken, but every man could hear the suddenly smooth breathing of a king who was whole once more.

* * *

**One more chapter and then we're onto post season 5. I hope you're enjoying it.**


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